An excerpt from the fictional tales of Life in Exile
I’m a trans-class, meaning my class identity does not match my assigned socio-economic status. I don’t say this lightly — it is no joke or parody. Everything I think and feel is as a person at the top of a societal hierarchy — unfortunately though, my situation is such that I physically occupy one of the lowest rungs.
I expect special treatment and privilege, it feels right to have money available to spend at will, laboring for a wage feels wrong, when I view an estate it stirs something, to see grand entranceways and gardens and water features and statuary — I sense home, a home in which I sip brandy by the fire following a meal of cruelty-free farm fresh foods. I enjoy managing money, delving into the depths of governance, determining the consequence of policy, and I wish to be a worthy steward of any resources I may manage. And underlying it all, I relish the paternal nature I sense inside myself.
The elites of a society are those that direct its course and character, they are the caretakers whose role and responsibility it is to ensure all receive their share. They may sit at the head of the table, but for this honor they partake in the burden of providing guidance to the many. It is not a life of leisure, but one of sacrifice, as one must share the suffering of the people, responding and resolving issues in due course.
This is not a matter of accumulating material wealth, but attaining a position of prestige and the associated social responsibility with which one may influence a society. And it is certainly not a matter of superiority, perceiving oneself better than another, as no individual is greater than any of whom comprise the whole. It is simply the role that some must occupy within a community — individuals seek fulfillment in various forms, valuing a multitude of activities and functions.
I of course realize that this is the least sympathetic affliction one could ever possess — which is why I rarely speak of it, remaining closeted. I do not seek pity, but to simply document my expectations of life and how they differ from actualities. I hope for reassignment, yes, but accept what comes. Yet I am always left wondering: are these thoughts a preparation for what’s to come or merely vestiges of a past-life once lived.